“What has the Earl of Derwentwater done to merit clemency on my part? He has been guilty of a most heinous treason. He has set up a Popish Pretender. He has raised my subjects in rebellion—has made war against me—and now that he is vanquished, he sues humbly for mercy. I cannot—will not pardon him. I look upon him as the guiltiest of the rebel lords.”
“Oh! say not so, my liege!” supplicated the countess. “His nature is loyal and generous.”
“He has not proved loyal to me,” cried the king. “He is a traitor—a vile traitor—and I will not pardon him. No more madam! you plead in vain. I pity you—but I cannot help you. The Earl of Derwentwater must die.”
As she still continued to clasp his hand, and bathe it with her tears, the king signed to the Duke of Richmond, who raised her and took her away.
This was not the only effort made by the unhappy countess.
She subsequently went to the lobby of the House ot Peers, accompanied by the Countess of Nithsdale, Lady Nairn, and many other ladies of distinction, but their petition was refused.
The Countess of Derwentwater was filled with despair when she had to communicate this sad news to the earl, but he bore it firmly.
“I am sorry you knelt to the usurper,” he said. “I am the guiltiest of all the insurgent lords in his eyes, because I am most attached to King James, and because King James is most attached to me. You have promised too much for me, sweetheart. I have never sworn allegiance to the Hanoverian usurper, and never will. I might engage not to conspire against him, but I refuse to serve him.”
“What is to be done?” cried the countess, despairingly.
“Nothing,” replied the earl. “I forbid you to make any further appeal to the tyrant. My death is resolved on.”